<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>We Thought We'd Be Friends Forever by Sohotthateveryonedied</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28490529">We Thought We'd Be Friends Forever</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied'>Sohotthateveryonedied</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I See Dead People [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Injury, Brotherly Bonding, Brothers, But with love, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Late Night Conversations, Past Character Death, STRAP IN FOLKS, Stitches, Tim Sees Dead People, also jason is a functional adult?? we stan??, and that they were friends when jason was dead, at least in bat-style, he's living his best life with his husband and daughter okay, no editing we die like robins, no he and roy aren't married yes they are husbands what's so hard to understand about that, oh boy, tim reveals to jason that he sees ghosts, which is mostly patching each other up and arguing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:41:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,351</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28490529</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m telling the truth, all right? <i>You</i> told me about it.”</p>
<p>“When?”</p>
<p>“When you were dead.”</p>
<p>Jason blinks. “Come again?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Tim Drake &amp; Jason Todd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I See Dead People [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557490</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>653</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>We Thought We'd Be Friends Forever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sorry I've been posting so slowly lately, work has been killing me but the good news is that I'm just a seasonal employee and my last day is tomorrow, which means I'll have more time for writing from here on out! (At least until school starts up again, but we'll burn that bridge when we come to it lmao.)</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><span>“Jeez, Timmers,” Jason grunts. “Someone needs to lay off the unsalted wheat crackers.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Shut up and get me to the couch.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Yeah, yeah. Watch out for the—”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><em><span>“Ow!”</span></em><span> Tim clutches his shoulder where it got slammed into the door frame. “That was uncalled for.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I should have left you bleeding on the pavement.” True as it is, Jason is careful to dodge the wall’s sharp corner and prevent further injury as the two of them hobble into the living room, Tim’s arm slung over Jason’s shoulder. Tim leans on him heavily, keeping his weight off his injured leg as he tries not to drip blood on the floor. He needn’t worry; this is why Jason chose an apartment with a hardwood floor. It’s more expensive than carpet, but damn if it isn’t worth it in the long run. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason deposits Tim on the sofa like a sack of potatoes. Tim hisses and raises his leg to rest on the coffee table, surveying the damage. There is a pencil-length gash in his leg, reaching up his calf where that goon got lucky with a knife. (Jason rewarded the asshole with a bullet to the knee and left him for the police.)</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason rummages through the laundry basket against the wall and tosses Tim a dish towel. “Don’t get blood on my couch. I’ll get the kit.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim eyes the towel like Jason pulled it out of a dumpster. “Is it...clean?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“What do I look like, a hobo?” Tim looks him up and down in consideration. Jason rolls his eyes. </span><em><span>Definitely </span></em><span>should have left him to bleed out. “Don’t answer that. Just don’t bleed all over my shit.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason goes off in search of the first-aid kit, tuning out Tim’s grumbles. Jason makes a quick stop in his bedroom to shuck off his gauntlets, gun holsters, and jacket. He leaves them semi-neatly in the closet, which is still a step up when you compare Jason’s (overall tidy) side of the room with Roy’s, which is strewn with half-finished gadgets and dirty clothes from over two months ago. Jason has given up on lecturing him on the importance of setting a good example for Lian, her own bedroom located just down the hall. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>He eventually finds the first-aid kit under the bed and brings it back to the living room. Tim’s got the towel wadded up and pressed against the wound, his face contorted in pain. Blood has soaked through the cloth, turning the once off-white fabric dark red. Jason’s been meaning to get new dish towels, anyway. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim has shed the external layers of his Red Robin suit by now, his sweaty hair now flopped against his forehead and belts hanging off the back of the couch. He’s removed his cape and gauntlets as well.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason drops the kit on the floor and flicks away Tim’s hands. “All right, shove over. Lemme see what I’m working with.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim obeys, sitting back. “When you told me you had an apartment, I thought you meant a safehouse.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Is there a difference?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Safehouses don’t have frilly curtains and family photos.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason looks at the framed picture of himself, Roy, and Lian sitting proudly on the mantle. Then he frowns at the light blue curtains framing the window, tied with a lace cord and letting moonlight shine into the room. “They’re not frilly, they’re Pottery Barn. And at least I </span><em><span>have </span></em><span>my own place. I’m not still living off of Daddy’s inheritance like </span><em><span>some</span></em><span> people.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim puts his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Not judging. It’s just new, is all.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason doesn’t look up from where he’s disinfecting the gash with peroxide and a cotton ball. “Yeah, well. Had to grow up sometime.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Once the gash is as clean as it’s going to get, he goes digging through the kit for whatever numbing solutions he has on hand. It’s been too long since his last supplies run, A.K.A. the last time he stopped by the manor and stole med supplies from Bruce’s endless stash. (Alfred throws in a batch of cookies once in a while, so, while Jason will always vouch for stealing from the rich, it’s not </span><em><span>technically </span></em><span>theft.)</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I’m fresh out of lidocaine, but I’ve got other painkillers.” Jason holds up a bottle of tramadol tablets. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim pointedly looks away from the bottle. “No, thanks.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You sure? This is going to take at least a dozen stitches.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“It’s fine. Just...get it over with.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason frowns but doesn’t argue. He stuffs the pill bottle back into the bottom of the kit, out of sight. He can’t judge Tim; Jason isn’t too fond of pills, either. It’s one of the reasons why Jason had his doubts when he heard Tim had gotten clean a few months back. After all, the kid has been self-dosing for as long as Jason has known him. Addicts don’t just quit at the drop of a hat, let alone stay clean long enough for it to stick. The ones strong enough to do that are a dime a dozen, like Roy Harper. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>But Jason’s got to hand it to the kid—he has more guts than Jason ever gave him credit for. Two and a half months clean, and he hasn’t slipped up yet. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason tries to be quick about the stitches. The first suture has Tim tensing, his fingers digging into the arm of the couch until his nails squeak against the fabric. Miraculously, he stays still.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Good on you for getting sober,” Jason says after a painful minute. “Never thought you had it in ya.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim breathes through the sting, his eyebrows locked in a furrow. “Yeah, figured it was time.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Why?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim jerks at the next puncture in his skin. “Hm?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Why now?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim shrugs stiffly. “I OD’d three months ago. Dick made me quit after that.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Damn. Jason was expecting a convincing health documentary, or maybe a traipse through Crime Alley that scared him straight and put him off the pills for good. His little brother overdosing is an image Jason expels from his head as soon as it solidifies. “And how are you holding up now?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I’m...good. I’m better.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Understatement. Back when Bruce was presumed dead, the kid looked like something that crawled out of a dumpster fire. Now, however, it’s like he’s a different person. Bruce is back. Tim’s Titan friends are back. He’s thriving as Red Robin, and he’s gone off the drugs for good. Talk about character development.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>In a strange way, Jason is proud of the little twerp. Every hero deserves a second chance at life.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason ties off the last stitch and winds a bandage around Tim’s leg. “There. That should do it.” He stands, waves of pins and needles spider-crawling down his own legs from kneeling for so long. “You hungry?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim inspects his leg, unwinding the bandage to adjust it for his own impossible standards. Little shit. “Got any mac and cheese?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“No, but I can make some.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“From the box?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Homemade, because I’m not a college student.” And because Lian isn’t home to feast on nothing but her usual rotation of chicken nuggets, Kraft macaroni and cheese, and pizza Lunchables like every other picky five-year-old. She and Roy are visiting Oliver and Dinah in Star City, so Jason is on his own for the weekend. At least, he </span><em><span>was.</span></em><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I’m not a college student, either,” Tim says. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“And yet you still eat all that crap.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Because it’s </span><em><span>good.”</span></em><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You need better taste.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim rolls his eyes. “Says the guy who practically lived on Kraft as a kid. You’re just as guilty as the rest of us.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason stops in his tracks, two feet from the kitchen doorway. “What?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You know, the coffee pot thing.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Who the </span><em><span>fuck </span></em><span>told you that?” Jason’s never told </span><em><span>anyone </span></em><span>about those nights—how his mom would scrape together what money they had for groceries, but it was barely enough to support one person for a few days, let alone a mother and son for a week. Catherine was forced to get creative, making macaroni and cheese with water and a mostly busted coffee maker because they couldn’t afford milk or butter.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>They would make a single box last for as long as they could by scraping off the dried pasta from Jason’s school artwork and adding it to the mixture. Jason and Catherine would sit around their tiny seven-inch TV and watch old movies while they ate day-old macaroni and cheese from plastic cups. It was horrible at the time, but in hindsight, those nights were part of the handful of good memories Jason shared with his mother, back before the drugs turned her into a ghost.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason’s never shared those nights with anybody, not even Bruce.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Who told you?” he demands now. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim’s body tenses like he’s prepared to jump up and run at the slightest hint of violence from Jason, but his injured leg makes doing so impossible. “No one.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Did you dig through my fucking Batcave files or something? Was Bruce tailing me from the beginning?” Jason wouldn’t put it past the old man to keep entire storage files chock full of data on his proteges, even from before they were his proteges. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Bruce didn’t do anything.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Then who fucking told you?” Jason’s past with Catherine Todd is sacred, kept locked away safely within the confines of his own head. Nothing will taint those memories if he can help it; they’re some of the only good memories from before his death that he has left. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You did.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“No, I didn’t. </span><em><span>Nobody </span></em><span>knows about that.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim’s shoulders hunch, his body coiled tight like a bug in a trap. “Jason—”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Tell me how you know or I swear to </span><em><span>god—”</span></em> <span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Why is it such a big deal? You must have told me about it on patrol one night, I don’t know.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“It’s a big deal because that’s not </span><em><span>your fucking memory to know.”</span></em><span> Jason itches for something sharp—a dagger, maybe. Something to jab at the kid, really drive the point home. For something that Jason can put between himself and this shitshow, give himself the distance of a threat. He curls his hands into fists instead, and it helps in the same way that children clutch their favorite toy when they’re feeling too many things to contain. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim flinches. “I’m telling the truth, all right?</span><em><span> You</span></em><span> told me about it.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“When?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“When you were dead.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason blinks. “Come again?” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Before you came back, I saw your ghost. We were...we were friends. We hung out.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason can’t see his own expression, but it must be priceless as Tim’s words sink in. Great, so the kid’s crazy, after all. Serves him right; all those pills he popped over the years finally turned him mad. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I’m not crazy,” Tim says, sensing where Jason’s mind is at.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Uh-huh, sure.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I’m </span><em><span>not.</span></em><span> And I’m not lying.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Right. Because you see dead people.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Is that so hard to believe?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Coming from you? Yes.” Jason would have known, if it were true. He’d have seen it. Hell, </span><em><span>Bruce </span></em><span>would have seen it, and Jason hacked into his “Robin III” files years ago when he first got back to Gotham and needed dirt on his replacement. Jason would have </span><em><span>known </span></em><span>about this.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Why would I make something like this up?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Because you were trained by a professional liar? Because no kid with an ability like that would be able to keep it a secret from said professional liar for longer than a day? Because I would remember if I’d been all buddy-buddy with someone while I was </span><em><span>dead? </span></em><span>Take your pick.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I’m </span><em><span>not </span></em><span>lying.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Prove it.” Not that Tim will be able to, which just goes to prove Jason’s point that it’s all a load of garbage. He’s getting real sick of this supernatural shit. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim holds Jason’s gaze, ice and fire meeting at a stalemate. Tim seems to be considering something—no doubt how to best confess it was all a shitty story while leaving his dignity intact. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” is all he says.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I’m terrified.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim’s eyebrows wrinkle as he focuses on an empty spot beside Jason. Jason is about to tell him to stop messing around and admit he’s full of shit, but then, inconceivably, Jay watches as Tim’s irises turn lighter and lighter until they are nearly white. Like something out of a sci-fi movie. “What the fuck?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Within the span of a single blink, the space beside Jason is no longer empty. Even before he sees her, he can feel the drop in temperature, the sensation of atoms rushing forward to make up new matter. A misty image of Catherine Todd stands there as if she appeared from thin air, her edges blurred but somehow clear enough that Jason might touch her if he tried.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Jason?” she says, her voice distorted like she’s speaking through a radio stuck between channels. She is exactly as Jason remembers her: red hair, pale skin riddled with track marks, warm eyes for when their crappy space heater wouldn’t do the trick. Her eyes glimmer with fresh tears when they lock on the face of her son, now grown up and worn. “My baby…”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason’s breath catches. “Mom?” A lump swells in his throat. Suddenly he’s eight years old again, back before his life fell apart for the first of many times to come. He’s just a kid longing for his mother. </span><em><span>“Mom.” </span></em><span>Jason reaches for her, their fingertips nearly touching before Catherine dissipates back into mist, gone in an instant.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“No!” Jason grabs at the mist, tries to pull her back, but it’s too late.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim sags into the couch, breathless. His eyes return back to their natural blue. “Sorry. I can—can never hold it for long.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason can’t tear his eyes away from the space where his mom’s spirit was. Distantly, it registers that he’s shaking.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Jason?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Shut up.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>A sigh. “Jay—”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Just—give me a fucking minute.” Jason turns so he’s facing away from Tim. He wipes away the tears with unforgiving knuckles—takes some deep, grating breaths. By the time he turns back Tim is waiting silently, his eyes filled to the brim with concern. Jason digs his fingers into his palms, feels the bite of it. </span><em><span>“Fuck, </span></em><span>man.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I’m sorry.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You see ghosts.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim nods, and you’d think he’s confessing to murder. “Some people are harder to reach than others. Not everyone has regrets. Not everyone goes to the same place after they die. It’s...murky.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“And you can sort through it all.” Jason should be used to weird abilities by now, considering the people he runs with, but the fact that it’s </span><em><span>Tim</span></em><span> has him stricken.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Not always. I still don’t know how it works. But yeah, usually.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jesus Christ. “Who else knows?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Just Dick. My parents didn’t even know until they were already in the ground.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason’s head is spinning. He drops into the armchair across from the sofa, trying to keep his brain from melting from the onslaught of information. “So you’ve been a metahuman all this time and just...what, forgot to mention it? Are you and Duke trying to form a club?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I’m not a metahuman. My DNA doesn’t show any markers for the gene.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Then what the hell is it? Are you an alien? From an alternate universe? Some fucking...secret government project?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I don’t know, okay? I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. I’ve tried finding answers before, but nobody knows. When I asked Constantine, he just said I gave off creepy vibes. Raven said she felt something in me that wasn’t magic or anything demonic. More like...she described it as a draft. Like an open window that’s supposed to be closed for normal people.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“That’s fucking crazy.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You’re telling me.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jesus. Jason doesn’t have the mental capacity for this. If he didn’t already ban himself from bringing alcohol into the apartment out of respect for Roy’s sobriety, he would be drinking himself silly just to comprehend this shit.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason sits forward. “Wait, but didn’t your parents mess around with antiques and shit? Archaeological digs?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim waves a hand. “Already tried that route. My dad had to sell most of their stuff when Drake Industries went down the toilet, so if they did have some creepy artifact that did this to me, it’s long gone by now.” Bummer.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“How could you not </span><em><span>tell me?”</span></em><span> Jason can’t begin to think of what secrets his ghostly self told Tim, thinking that it would be the only human interaction he’d experience for the rest of his afterlife. Poor kid had no idea the hell that was coming for him in the land of the living. He didn’t know he was due for a do-over.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim’s eyes narrow. “When should I have, when you were trying to kill me? When you were busy slicing my throat? When you left me to die in your knockoff Batcave? ‘Hey, Jay, I know you’re busy right now, but I just wanted to let you know that I was buddies with your ghost when you were dead and didn’t think to mention it until now.’”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“It’s better than keeping this huge fucking secret from me! What, did I give you my goddamn diary? What else did I tell you while I was dead?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I wasn’t exactly keeping a list of your darkest secrets, Jason. You were…I don’t know, someone I could talk to about stuff. I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, and you were there.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason wipes away a fake tear. “Boo-hoo, poor Timmy wasn’t the most popular kid in school? I’m sobbing for you.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Would </span><em><span>you </span></em><span>hang out with the weird kid who talked to people who weren’t there?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“No, but I’m an asshole.” It’s a joke, but Tim doesn’t laugh.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You weren’t always one. Before the Pit changed you, you were...you were nice. You made it easier, becoming Robin and learning how to be part of a family. You’re the one who told me to become Robin in the first place.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason stares at him. “You’re fucking kidding me.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“We both saw how badly Bruce was hurting, and when I couldn’t convince Dick to take back the suit, you told me that I should put it on instead. You said Bruce needed someone watching his back.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I sure as hell wouldn’t let myself be </span><em><span>replaced.”</span></em><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Well, you did. And I owe you for that, even if you can be a stuck-up jerk about it.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“This is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had in my fucking life.” Jason is going to have a pounding headache by the end of the night, no doubt about it.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You think this is weird? Try </span><em><span>living</span></em><span> it. Up until I quit the pills, I couldn’t control any of it. And I still can’t, for the most part. Just summoning your mom for a few seconds took a lot out of me. But I’m getting better at it.” He hesitates. “Can I ask you a favor, though?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Might as well.” Jason’s brain is already melted beyond saving. This is what he gets for having honest conversations with people. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Would you mind keeping all this ghost stuff to yourself? I haven’t told any of the others yet besides Dick, and I don’t really want them finding out. Not yet, at least.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Fine, whatever. As long as you promise to never mention anything my ghost told you ever again. That shit stayed sealed, got it?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Done.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Good.” Jason stands, cracking his back. He needs a nap. Two hundred years should do the trick; however long it takes him to forget that tonight ever happened. “You still hungry?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Yeah.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason tosses Tim his cell phone. “Great, then you get to order the pizza.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I thought you were cooking.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Summon a ghost chef if you want a home-cooked meal.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim rolls his eyes. “That’s not how it works.” Still, he dials and holds the phone to his ear. “I’m ordering pineapple.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“If you order fucking pineapple I’m going to break your legs.”</span><br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy new year, folks!! At this point, sharks could start flying around crashing into buildings and it would still be a step up from 2020 so let's hope that 2021 gives us the bare fucking minimum &lt;3</p>
<p>
  <a href="http://sohotthateveryonedied.tumblr.com/">Feel free to mosey on down to my Tumblr!</a>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>